Growing Up Is Hard to Do

A while ago at the thrift store I found a collection of children's books by A.A. Milne, comprising two poetry books and the two Winnie-the-Pooh books. At the end of the final book, The House at Pooh Corner, I bawled my eyes out. In the last chapter Christopher Robin tries to find a way to tell Pooh he will no longer be able to visit the Hundred Acre Wood. He is unsuccessful--because he doesn't want to say it and Pooh isn't bright enough to take a hint--and simply tells Pooh to never forget him.

It took me some time to regain my composure after that. The ending hit just the right sentimental buttons inside me. I could relate so much. I loved playing pretend; I loved my dozens of stuffed animals; I loved all the stories my Dad made up about them. When I hit middle school, I found myself in an awkward situation, as do most kids. I was neither a child nor a teenager. It was a hard transition.

Two years ago I finally went through my stuffed animals when I visited my family. I remembered almost all their names and where I got them. I finally let go and only kept the nearest and dearest ones. I went through all my stuffed animals again once we moved, only getting rid of newer ones, not childhood ones. In the future the bag may become smaller, but there are a few I know I will never part with.

As you can imagine, I also cried at the ending of Toy Story 3. Little problem with it though: the toys will have to go through the same thing again once the little girl grows up! I guess they want us to assume that they will just continue to be passed along from kid to kid happily ever after. I like the ending of The Brave Little Toaster better (remember that one?). Then again, it's much easier for a college boy to take practical items like a toaster and vacuum with him to college than to take toys.